Signs Preceding the End of the World (3 page)

After her shower she went back to wandering the rooms where those in flight sweated out the night. Many were sleeplessly waiting for their contact to show and tell them it was time. She deciphered a letter for a very old man who couldn’t read, in which his son explained how to find him once he’d crossed. She taught a boy how to say Soap in anglo and explained to another that, as far as she’d been told, you weren’t allowed to cook on the sidewalk over there. There were traders, too, who’d just crossed back the other way and slept with their arms around bundles of clothes or toys they’d brought to sell.

She versed to the street. Small groups walked the length of the line, moving farther from the glimmer of the northern city till they found their point of departure. Among them she saw the two boys from the bus negotiating the price of crossing with a couple of men. The men retreated a moment to consult together, talking anglo so the others wouldn’t understand. Should we just take ’em? asked the first, and the other said Let ’em wait, too bad if they’re in a hurry, Plus, word is that security is tight, For real? For real, Damn, then we really should take ’em, or act like we are: got another little group’ll pay us more if we cross ’em right now, Let’s put these scrubs out as bait and get the others over, Just what I was thinking. That’s what they said, in anglo tongue, and Makina heard it as she sidled up and past them. She kept on going and when she got to where the boys were said Watch it, without turning toward them. The one who had touched her flinched, but the other seemed to realize that Makina was talking about something else, not about what a badass she was. Watch it, they’re out to screw you; I was you I’d find someone else, she said and kept on. The youngsters looked at the men, the men guessed Makina had said something, both parties swiftly saw the deal was off, and the men went to find new clients.

She walked up and down along the riverbank until the night waned; then she sat at the water’s edge to scan the horizon as she ate one last hunk of brittle, sweet and thick with peanut salt, and just as the sun began to rise she saw a light flicker meaningfully on the other side. Against the clear dawn glow she made out a man and saw that she was the one he was signaling to, so she raised an arm and waved it from side to side. The man switched off his light and went to get something from a truck parked a few feet away. He came back with an enormous inner tube, like from a tractor, tossed it into the water, climbed inside and began to cross the river, propelling himself forward with a tiny oar he’d brought along. As he made his way across, Makina could begin to distinguish the features of the silhouetted man: his skin had the dark polish of long hours spent in the sun, a short salt-and-pepper beard softened his face, in the center of which a large nose, slightly hooked, jutted out; he wore a white shirt darkened by the water scaling his torso, and he carried his own rucksack. Though he gave the impression of being short, as soon as he emerged from the river she saw that he was at least two hands taller than her. And wiry. Every muscle in his arms and neck seemed trained for something specific, something strenuous.

Hey there, he said as soon as he was out of the water. So you’re going over for a lil land, I hear.

Ha, said Makina, land’s the one thing we got enough of. I’m going for my bro, he’s the stupid sap who went over for a little land.

Chucho, said the man, holding out a hand.

Makina, she reciprocated. The man’s skin was weather-beaten but pleasing to the touch, warm even though he’d only just versed from the water.

Chucho took a pack of cigarettes from his bag, lit two and gave one to Makina. She inhaled deeply, held the smoke in her lungs—in her head she could see it spiraling gaily—and exhaled.

How’d you recognize me? she asked.

They sent me a picture, full body shot.

For a moment Makina thought he’d make some comment about her looks: You’re even cuter in the flesh, or What a tasty surprise, or A sight for sore eyes, or any of that oafishness that makes men feel they’re being original, but Chucho just kept smoking, face to the dawn.

Wouldn’t it be better to wait till it’s dark again? she said. Wouldn’t it be too easy for them to spot us now?

Nah, they’re tied up somewhere else, he said, winked at her and added I got my contacts.

They finished their smokes and then he said Alright, we’re off. He pulled another small oar from his pack and handed it to Makina, pushed the tube back in the water and helped Makina get in in front of him.

The first few feet were easy. Makina could still touch bottom and felt his legs tangle with hers as they advanced; she even, before things got rough, felt him lean in close and sniff her hair, and she was glad she’d had the chance to shower. But suddenly the riverbed ducked away and an icy current began to push their feet away like a living thing, relentless. Row, Chucho said; Makina already was but the tube was being tugged into the current as though adrift. Row, repeated Chucho, this is going to be a bitch. Hardly had he spoken when a torrent of water bounced them out, flipping the tube. Suddenly the world turned cold and green and filled with invisible water monsters dragging her away from the rubber raft; she tried to swim, kicking at whatever was holding her but couldn’t figure out which side was up or where Chucho had gone. She didn’t know how long she struggled frantically, and then the panic subsided, and she intuited that it made no difference which way she headed or how fast she went, that in the end she’d wind up where she needed to be. She smiled. She felt herself smile. That was when the sound of breaking water replaced the green silence. Chucho dragged her out by the pants with both hands: they’d reached the opposite bank and the inner tube was swirling away in the current as if it had urgent business to attend to.

They lay on the shore, spent and panting. It had hardly been more than a few dozen yards, but on staring up at the sky Makina thought that it was already different, more distant or less blue. Chucho stood, scanned the city at their backs and said Well, now, next part’s easier.

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3

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THE PLACE WHERE THE HILLS MEET

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First there was nothing. Nothing but a frayed strip of cement over the white earth. Then she made out two mountains colliding in the back of beyond: like they’d come from who knows where and were headed to anyone’s guess but had come together at that intense point in the nothingness and insisted on crashing noisily against each other, though the oblivious might think they simply stood there in silence. Yond them hills is the pickup, take you on your way, said Chucho, but we’ll make a stop first so you can change.

Then off in the distance she glimpsed a tree and beneath the tree a pregnant woman. She saw her belly before her legs or her face or her hair and saw she was resting there in the shade of the tree. And she thought, if that was any sort of omen it was a good one: a country where a woman with child walking through the desert just lies right down to let her baby grow, unconcerned about anything else. But as they approached she discerned the features of this person, who was no woman, nor was that belly full with child: it was some poor wretch swollen with putrefaction, his eyes and tongue pecked out by buzzards. Makina turned to look at Chucho and see if he too had been fooled, but he hadn’t. Chucho told her about how one time he was taking a man back the other way because his wife was dying and they’d gotten lost—this was when he’d only just started crossing folks—and some sonofabitch rancher thought they were headed this direction and it was only because he chased them that they found the way back, but by then it was too late. Cat made it home, Chucho said, but by the time he got there she was already six feet under.

One of the first to strike it rich after going north came back to the Village all full of himself, all la-di-da, all fancy clothes and watches and new words he’d be able to say into his new phone. He made sure to round up every wide-eyed hick he could find, brought each and every one to the switchboard where he planned to teach Makina a lesson in public, as if one time she’d fucked him over, though he claimed he just wanted to show her because she knew about this stuff. He took out two cellphones and gave one to his mother, Here, jefecita, just press this button when you hear the briiiiiiiing and you’ll see, just step right outside, and he brandished the other one. He gave Makina two patronizing pats on the forearm and said Tough luck, kid, it had to happen: you’re going to be out of a job. Watch and learn. The young man pushed a little key and waited for the zzzz of the dial tone, but the zzzz didn’t come. Never mind, no sweat, he said. These new ones don’t do that. And proceeded to dial the number of the cellphone his mother was holding to her ear on the other side of the wall. Now at least you could hear peep-peep-peep as he pressed each key, and the wide-eyed stood like ninnies waiting for the thing that they were expecting to happen and yet wishing that it would turn out to be, well, more spectacular somehow, more weird. But the peep-peeps were followed only by silence, a silence that was especially weighty because it seemed as if everyone was holding their breath so as not to spoil the wondrous trick. And the mother was still standing outside, in truth far less concerned about whatever it was her son was up to than about the pot she’d left on the stove, and though the phone was still clamped to her ear she was in fact already telling a neighbor Be an angel, would you? Go check on my stew. And on it went till the guy was left just looking at his phone with all his might, as though enough staring might somehow fix it. Makina held off a bit then said Maybe you should have bought a few cell towers, too? The poor guy turned red when the penny dropped and suddenly he was the only wide-eyed one in the place. That was what Makina said but then she felt mean for messing with him so she gave him a kiss on the cheek and said Don’t worry, kid, they’ll get here one day.

Before they reached the shack where she was to change clothes, what happened was:

that another truck pulled right up beside them on the road to the mountains; it was black with four searchlights mounted on the roof and the driver was an anglo with dark glasses and a hat with a silver buckle. His eyes shot bullets through the two windows between them, still stepping on it, still stuck to them like glue;

and that Chucho grabbed a cell and started to dial a number but didn’t finish till they’d reached the shack, in the foothills, and then dialed the rest when he got out and as soon as they picked up said, in anglo tongue, Hey officer, I got the info I promised, yeah, yeah, right where I said last time, yeah, but be careful, he’s armed to the eyeballs, and hung up.

The anglo had pulled up ahead and parked a few yards from the shack. He stood by his truck, fingering the grip of a handgun tucked into his waistband. As soon as they went inside Chucho said Gotta be quick, no telling what we’re in for now, best leave behind anything might weigh you down. In the shack all there was was a cot and a stove, and on the cot a pair of pants, a t-shirt with an anglo print, and a denim jacket; on the stove, a pot of scalded water. Makina began to undress with her back to Chucho, who stood smoking and staring out the window at the goon on guard outside, and thought how strange it was not to feel scared or angry at having to strip naked with no wall to separate them. She took off her blouse. She could have put on the t-shirt before taking off her pants but she didn’t. She took off her pants. She took off her bra and panties, too, though Chucho hadn’t told her to, and stood there, looking down at the clothes spread out on the cot, with something almost like an urge to pee and something almost like a bated breath tingling up and down her body. Quick, Chucho insisted; Makina knew he was still staring out the window but his voice enveloped her. She felt that moment of tension without fear go on and on, and then was surprised how much time had passed without her feeling guilty for wanting what she wanted. More than leaving her boyfriend behind she was casting off her guilt the way you might shed belongings. But even those interminable seconds came to an end. She said ok, got dressed. Chucho turned around.

What did you say to that person on the phone? she asked.

Just what I reckon, he said, jerking his head toward outside. Like not only is our rancher here a patriot but he’s got his own lil undercover business, like it’s not so much he’s bothered bout us not having papers as he is bout us muscling in on his act.

You sure?

Chucho shrugged. Maybe the dumbfuck is just in up to his neck.

They stood there a moment, Makina staring at him, Chucho absorbed in his thoughts, one eye on the window the whole time. Then he said Well, whatever’s going down, time for it to go down, so if the shit hits the fan you head for that mountain pass and stay on the trail, keep the sun on your back.

She waited for him to start for the door before she took from her rucksack a plastic bag with the note Cora had given her and the package Mr. Aitch had entrusted to her and slipped them into her jacket, and then she went after him. Soon as they versed the rancher approached, revolver in hand, though not pointing it at them.

You just took your last trip, coyote.

I’m no coyote, Chucho said.

Ha! I seen you crossing folks, the man said. And looks like now I caught you in the act.

Not the act I’m denying, said Chucho, tho I’m no coyote.

The anglo’s expression indicated that he was engaged in a mighty struggle with the nuances of the concept. He scanned Chucho’s face for a few seconds, waiting for clarification. And now, yessir, chose to point the gun at them.

What I’m denying, Chucho went on, Is that you caught us.

Then they all registered the fact they had company. Two police trucks were haring across the open country, top speed but no flashing lights. The minute the rancher was distracted by turning to look, Chucho pounced and grabbed the arm that was holding the gun. The rancher shot to kill but it was a waste of bullets since Chucho had wrestled the muzzle away from the two spots where there were bodies. The rancher was big and strong but all his strength was not enough to regain his balance. In the end Chucho stuck one foot between his two and they both fell to the sand. The police trucks had stopped a dozen yards away and the cops inside took aim from behind the open doors.